by Garth Wade
She knew he’d lied to her – predictable as a losing lottery ticket.
As she watched the two figures talking, she felt the buzz. Her heart rate increased, her skin goose-pimpled, and she felt the need for a deep steadying breath. She loved this feeling. She knew it was an addiction.
She jumped into her car and sped back to Bradley’s house in Carina. Sweat slicked her palms as she gripped the steering wheel hard. She wound down the window and felt the breeze cooling her face and neck. She felt exhilarated. She knew there would be more of this excitement soon, very soon. She raced around each corner, loving the swoop of the car, listening to the tyres screech, but she slowed to less than the speed limit as she approached her destination.
Bradley’s house was a single-storey, multi-coloured brick and fibro-cement home with metal roofing. It was impossible to tell whether the fibro or brick had come first, but it was one of the ugliest houses in the whole suburb. The front yard was dirt and gravel from the house to the unpainted picket fence, and the nature strip was much the same, apart from the occasional patch of dying grass: a typical poverty-ridden, housing-commission shit-heap.
She stroked the keys between her thumb and forefinger, wondering if she should go in. She knew intellectually that what she intended to do was ‘wrong’ – it would have a hugely detrimental effect on Bradley’s life, but not really on anybody else’s – and really, she would be doing the community a service. Besides, the thrill was addictive. She was hooked.
She thought of what her father would say, and felt her heart clench.
Leaping out of her car, she shut the door quietly and, being sure not to appear to sneak, entered Bradley’s house using the key he had entrusted to her. The interior had been quite nicely renovated, in contrast to the houso exterior. The painting complemented the entrance tiles nicely, the lounge room was comfortable and clean, and there were quality fittings and carpets throughout. Someone with a good eye for design had influenced the interior furnishing decisions.
Lorraine checked every room, making sure Bradley hadn’t somehow beaten her back, heard her, and was perhaps hiding for a joke. He wasn’t, so she re-entered the main bedroom, scanned the room quickly then produced a key from her hip pocket that she had had cut months ago, predicting that a night like this would eventually come.
She carefully opened the sliding wardrobe door, knelt down and looked intently at the shoes on the bottom shelf. She shifted them to the left with professional care. Her hands were smooth and sure as she moved to the safe, her breathing flat and composed.
The key creaked in the lock, followed a second later by the click of the retracting bolt. Lorraine leant to one side so the dull streetlight could shine into the safe; it was just enough for her to make out the contents.
She grabbed the small rectangular box and stood up. She felt calm but alert, as though she had done this a million times before, ready to take flight if need be.
There was not a sound in the house.
She opened the rectangular black box and saw two hypodermic syringes still in their packaging. She tipped the lot into her hand: two alcohol swabs, a stick of filter, a small plastic baggie of heroin, and two round, green OxyContin tablets.
Lorraine fished out a replica of Bradley’s baggie, and switched the two, replacing everything in the black box, then she shut it all up carefully, and placed it back in the safe. She slid the key into the lock and listened to the bolt slide into place. She took her time replacing the shoes: one lace in one lace out on the left shoe, angled at forty-five degrees to the right, which snuggled up flat next to the other.
Her knees cracked as she stood. She caught a sharp trace of Bradley’s deodorant and quickly turned her head, her heart rate rising. Nobody was there.
She settled, blew a kiss into the wardrobe, and slid shut the door.
If you spot it
19:35 hrs – Bravo Unit 989
‘How are you feeling, Sebastian?’ Syd asked.
‘Aw, man, I feel okay, it does not hurt like it was before, you know?’
‘Well that’s excellent news. I just want you to tell me if anything changes, yes? A new pain? Or a numb feeling at all in that leg or foot? You let me know straight away, okay?’
‘Yes, I will tell you … aah I am sorry, I have forgotten your name …’
‘I’m Sydney, and that’s Cameron up front. Now, can you feel me touching your toes?’
‘Yes.’
‘And here?’ Sydney circled his pen on Sebastian’s heel, which he could only just reach at the end of the vacuum splint.
‘Yes.’
‘Can you wiggle your toes? Just a little bit.’
Sebastian concentrated, gripped the railing of the stretcher, and wiggled all the toes on the injured leg, ever so slightly. Sydney again noted the good colour and temperature of his patient’s foot, then sat back in the chair, looking through the cab and windscreen, trying to work out their location.
‘Excuse me driver, how far away are we?’ Syd said, while trying to catch Cam’s eye in the rear-view mirror.
‘About five minutes, bearer,’ Cam answered without taking his eyes off the road. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Everything’s good,’ Syd said, then turned his attention again to Sebastian. ‘So, Sebastian, where are you from? How long have you been in Australia?’ He was genuinely interested, and not just looking for a way to pass the time.
‘I have been here for nine months and I came here for my job in Argentina,’ Sebastian said comfortably.
‘Oh man, that’s great! I just got back from Bolivia – well a few months ago now – but I travelled over there at the end of last year. Man I loved it; I backpacked from La Paz to the jungle and back, it was so much fun! Have you been to Bolivia?’ There were certain subjects, travel included, that got Syd instantly enthused. His family’s favourite tease was to wonder aloud if there was some way to bottle his excitement and monopolise the energy drink market.
‘No, I have not been to Bolivia, it doesn’t interest me you know? But Argentina … sí … now this is a beautiful place.’
‘Aah man, it’s right next door to your country, and so many great places and people and the jungle and deserts and cities there are like nothing in Australia. Don’t get me wrong, I love Australia, but South America is like another world! Do you miss home? Are you from Buenos Aires? I didn’t go there but I can’t wait to go again. I’ll definitely go to Argentina!’
‘Sí, I am from Buenos Aires, but it is just my home you know? I don’t really think about that stuff … just like you maybe don’t think about kangaroos and Arse Rock to be that fun or exciting, you know?’
Syd smiled. He was enjoying the Latin accent, the strange pronunciations.
‘You are laughing at my voice, huh?’ Sebastian said, also smiling.
‘Not your voice, your accent,’ Syd said with a quiet chuckle. ‘I’m sure the ladies love it.’
‘Sí sí sí! Yes, some do for sure!’ Sebastian words sounded slightly slurred but he was still full of pep. ‘But,’ he looked down at his injured leg, ‘I have a girlfriend, and she don’t like it when I talk to other girls.’
‘So you can only talk to blokes? Jeez that gets a bit boring after a while doesn’t it?’
‘Ah, nah I talk to girls, but just not too much, and not around my girlfriend, you understand?’
Cameron’s voice echoed through the ambulance, ‘Sorry guys, the road is terrible here, it’ll be bumpy for a bit.’
‘Thanks Cam,’ Sydney said. Most roads around Brisbane were good and reasonably smooth, but bottoming out in one of the many small-child-sized potholes was still a regular occurrence. Cam had a reputation for driving like a Sunday afternoon retiree when patients were onboard the ambulance, something that occasionally annoyed the much less experienced and consequently more impatient Sydney.
‘How’s your pain Sebastian?’ Syd asked as the vehicle began to rock.
‘Ah, yes, I can feel the pain coming back very much now,
’ Sebastian said.
Syd checked his patient’s blood pressure, which had been automatically taken forty-five seconds ago, and after confirming with Cam, administered further anaesthesia then flushed it through.
‘I dunno Sebastian,’ said Syd, bracing himself between the stretcher and the fridge, ‘do you reckon it’s a good thing she’s so envious about simple things like you talking to other girls?’
Sebastian looked up at Syd, momentarily distracted from his splinted leg. ‘Yes, my friend, I know what you mean, but,’ Sebastian’s eyes widened, ‘she’s got her secrets, and I got mine!’ The Latin lover shot a wry smile at Syd.
‘Ah, I see. I know what you’re saying.’ Syd paused, juggling the Morphine and flush syringes. ‘I used to go out with a woman who would say, “If you spot it; you’ve got it”’.
Sebastian looked completely nonplussed. ‘I am sorry Sydney, you are speaking a little too quickly. I do not understand what you are saying.’
‘That’s okay, mate. I didn’t understand what she meant either at first, but eventually she explained.’ Syd slowed his speech. ‘She meant that if one person in a relationship is worried or paranoid about a certain behaviour in the other person, then it is probably that first person who is behaving that way. You understand?’
Sebastian still looked confused.
Syd explained. ‘It’s like your girlfriend always worrying you’re going to cheat on her with another woman. It probably means she’d like to cheat on you with another guy.’ He looked at his Latino patient to make sure he understood then added hastily, ‘but that’s not necessarily true. I’m just saying what she said. In fact, it’s actually quite stupid now that I’ve said it out loud.’
‘So, you are saying that you think maybe my girlfriend talks to lots of other men? And that is suspicious? That maybe she’s doing other things too?’
‘No, no, I don’t want to make any assumptions or judgements, particularly of someone I don’t know anything about.’ Syd paused. ‘I’m just saying, my ex-girlfriend, well, a woman I dated, used to believe this. It’s not necessarily what I believe. Don’t worry about it, Sebastian, it really is absolutely ridiculous.’
Broken promises ...
19:39 hrs – 47 Summer Street, Coorparoo
Ken’s house was one of the more pretentious ones, with a ludicrously-sized fountain between the house and the driveway, and a thick rounded hedge separating the front garden from the street.
Bradley had slipped down the driveway of a house in Summer Street. It was all in darkness and gave him a good view of Ken’s house. He caught sight of Ken walking over the large Italian harlequin porch tiles before he tapped on the front door of his house.
Ken’s wife opened the door – a thin, pretty woman with a blonde bob – kissed him on the lips and smiled as he walked in.
The white stripes of Bradley’s dark tracksuit gleamed in the streetlights as he slipped from house to house.
He crept towards Ken’s house and crouched alongside the thick hedge by the driver’s side of Ken’s car. He squatted there for forty-five minutes, in which time he considered his options. Despite a total inability to change some harmful elements in his own life, Bradley always liked to consider his alternatives.
He thought maybe he could walk back around the corner to his car, drive home, and just not go through with the deal. That way he would only have kind of broken his promise to Lorraine. Or, he could maybe drive back to his house, get the drugs that Ken wanted, and meet him back at the park, as planned, to complete an ‘honest’ deal, but that would mean completely breaking his promise to Lorraine. Or maybe he could follow up on the idea that had slowly surfaced in his mind: if he put on his balaclava and mugged Ken of the $7000, thus only partially breaking his promise to Lorraine, he’d end up with free money and his drugs.
He settled on the latter, as he knew he would, and continued to watch, squatting like a Vietnamese farmer. After all, he was giving up the dealing, gradually, and this would definitely be a step in the right direction, although he failed to see the irony of keeping the drugs himself.
All at once Bradley doubted his decision. What if Ken had to go somewhere else to get the money, and would be coming out of his house with nothing close to the $7000 he was after? He pondered this for a moment, unable to think of a way he could ensure the money would be there when he reached for it. Then suddenly he heard movement inside the house, a loud laugh then muffled words before the front door opened, closed, and then footsteps crunched on the gravel driveway. Bradley felt a jet of adrenaline, and instinctively looked through the side windows of the car to confirm who was approaching. It was Ken.
Ken hurried past the front of his car, and Bradley heard his own knees click loudly as he propelled himself up and forward, grabbed Ken by the scruff of the shirt and forced him down onto the gravel between the car and the hedge. Bradley punched him hard on the nose and Ken let out a pained grunt. As balaclava-clad Bradley set about searching through the jacket of his punch-shocked client, Ken fumbled for the tiny handheld stun gun in the pocket of his pants. Bradley found the rolled-up wad of money in the inside front pocket of the jacket, grabbed it and squeezed it in his hand.
Ken struggled, slipped out of Bradley’s grasp and scuttled sideways. Bradley lost his balance and found himself on both knees, then somehow pitching backwards. Ken felt a sudden surge of courage, spat out the blood filling his mouth, sat up and pushed the mugger backwards and onto his behind. He still couldn’t find the stun gun, fumbling through his deep pockets as he struggled to his feet.
In a submissive and vulnerable posture that felt dangerously unfamiliar, Bradley saw Ken searching for something. He pulled up the leg of his own tracksuit pants and reached for his leg holster, extricating a small, clean knife.
In the same instant, Ken found the stun gun and stood over Bradley, holding it out in front of him as he’d seen men do in movies. Bradley held the knife towards Ken – he’d seen the same movies. There was a moment’s standoff, then Bradley lunged at Ken and pushed the point of the knife to his chest then quickly withdrew it.
Ken, red with anger and buoyed on a surge of rage and power he never realised he possessed, pressed the stun gun hard against Bradley’s stomach, with no effect whatsoever. He pushed the button as hard as he could and pressed the gun onto Bradley’s chest, listening to the nasty, clattering sound it made – still nothing.
Bradley had fallen back again, grazing his knuckles clutching the money on the gravel. He watched as Ken dropped the stun gun, clutched at his chest, then turned and hurried back to the verandah. ‘Help,’ he said quietly, almost politely.
Bradley gripped his knife, grabbed Ken’s stun gun and the money and ran. He was scratching at his chest and stomach by the time he reached his car. He threw himself into the seat and drove away, parking his car in an inconspicuous area surrounded by trees, not far from his house. He closed his eyes and slept.
Handover
19:55 hrs – Princess Alexandra Hospital Emergency Department
The ambulance reversed up to the ED, where five other ambulances were already parked. Syd thought it couldn’t be a very busy night, but even if it had been, he knew they’d scoot through triage because he’d phoned through earlier. Sebastian was expected.
Cam gently rolled the stretcher carrying Sebastian into the ED and past Syd, who stopped to speak with the triage nurse. The hospital seemed quiet and the staff behind the counter were relaxed, both of which were rarely seen. There were no other patients in the resus beds so the triage nurse was happy for the newly arrived patient to go straight through, where a consultant, his trainee graduate doctor, and three other nurses were waiting.
They all looked at Syd as a nurse asked, ‘Is this the compound tib-fib?’
Syd replied confidently, ‘Sure is. If you’d like to give us a hand to get him over, then I’ll hand over. Or I can do the two things at once, whichever you like.’
‘There’s no rush is there? Still no altered per
fusion to that foot?’ the nurse asked.
‘Nothing’s changed,’ Syd replied, then told Sebastian that they were going to put a hard board under his back and slide him from the stretcher to the hospital bed. Sebastian seemed comfortable and followed instructions, keeping still and letting the medical staff do all the work.
‘So, this is Sebastian, a twenty-six-year-old who was playing touch football, had a fall while running, and sustained a compound fracture to the lower left leg at around seven o’clock tonight. As you’ll see, he has about two centimetres of exposed bone, with nil altered sensation, colour or temperature and with good movement to all toes. He has kept a sweet and steady pedal pulse and had a similar posterior tibial pulse before we vacuum splinted. At no time was there altered level of consciousness, patient remembers the whole event, and although the mechanism was enough to produce a compound fracture, there was reportedly never any impact with another player or object. Nil neck pain or tenderness. Pain has been managed with 4 ml Methoxyflurane, 12.5 mg Morphine plus 10 mg Metaclopromide, with vitals remaining within normal limits. Patient has no allergies and no history of lower leg fractures nor issues. Any questions?’
The resus team listened attentively to Syd’s handover while examining, prodding and assessing Sebastian. Doctor Deepak Das, a consultant with a reputation for straight talking and for producing the best orthopaedic surgeons on the east coast, was about to speak when he was interrupted by a fiery-haired intern. ‘What measures have been taken to ensure left-sided distal perfusion for this patient?’ he asked in a nasal voice. The young man was overdressed in a brand-name French-cuffed shirt, trousers and dress shoes, an outfit that was just asking to be vomited on in the ED.
Syd looked at the intern, then at the consultant, and delicately raised a quizzical eyebrow. He had handed over to Doctor Das a number of times before and felt they had developed a professional rapport. He drew in a breath but Doctor Das cut him off, looking sharply at the intern and saying, ‘Quiet.’
